


Iridescent

by AvalonTheLadyKiller



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Advanced Dueling, Advanced Potionry, Alternate Universe - Dark, Anti-Dumbledore, Anti-Harry Potter, Anti-Hero, Behind the Scenes of Potterverse, Child Abuse, Death Eater Regime, Death Eaters, Dumbledore Bashing, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gellert Grindelwald - Freeform, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Bashing, Heirs To Ambrosius, Heirs To Le Fey, Heirs To Slytherin, Horror, Lucius Malfoy - Freeform, Merlin Ambrosius, Morgana Ambrosius, Morgana Le Fey - Freeform, Narcissa Malfoy - Freeform, Past Abuse, Reincarnation, Romance, Salazar Slytherin - Freeform, Seer OC, Severus Snape - Freeform, Sibling Incest, divergence from canon, light bashing, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvalonTheLadyKiller/pseuds/AvalonTheLadyKiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaken awake by the sound of Azkaban's walls crumbling. An ethereal young woman is offered freedom, by the only man who had ever spoken to her soul, in a language she understood. Though he remembers naught, like a whisper to his ears, every fragment of his soul knows her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

* * *

   


**Chapter One- Azkaban**

   


_Breathe in._

_Breathe out. Focus._

_Breathe in. Strengthen your shields._

_Breathe out. Block out the pain. Find the white place. The place where no thoughts, and no voices disturb us. Again._

Her thoughts trickled through her subconscious. Forcing their way to the forefront of her mind, much like the air rushing in and out of her lungs. It was a repetition she'd long since mastered. Her mind, a safe haven. Her only escape in this relentless place. Within these cold walls, she strengthened and manipulated her mental capacity beyond the ordinary. Not that she ever was ordinary, given her bloodline.

Utilizing what she knew of Occlumency, she'd sculpted and developed something unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Inside her mind, she built a fortress. Behind its windows, her every memory lived; never to be lost. Warding them behind locked doors, she sealed them in a way to protect their contents from eroding into the forgotten. Much as the vaults under Gringotts, she forged rooms riddled with hidden treasures and poisoned memories to punish a trespasser. She took no chances knowing whom might one day come looking.

Preserving each and every memory became her priority, upon arriving at Azkaban. Though she was physically unable to age, her ruthless captor was an extremely patient man. She knew naught the length of her stay, only felt the pouring of sand; counting down until he returned to rape her mind and end her suffering.

She established patterns only she knew; rivets in the Orphanage's brickwork, notches in the wooden floors she used to scrub, ridges in her favorite tree to read against on summer afternoons. Repeating patterns that most never realized existed, and could never be deciphered. After decades of work, she declared her work finished. She assaulted her barriers from every imaginable angle, but her shields never shook.

For the next few years, she drifted more into her mind than ever before. Reliving memories, as though they were happening right before her eyes. Capturing the senses, she could spend days reliving a specific moment in time. Decades were spent in complete silence while she perfected her Mind-Arts. Her solitude would have been enough to drive her completely insane, if not for her already questionable moral ineptitude. Her memories were her last protection against the one that put her here. And one day in the near future, her salvation would arrive.

She had foreseen it.

* * *

Years after arriving at Azkaban, she was taken ahold of by her first vision. Late at night while she laid down to rest, her senses became enraptured by the approach of a middle-aged woman. Shuffling down the hall past her cell, dementors looming over her every step. Her eyes wild and her stance tense, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Only no other woman lived in this wing, or any other at here at Azkaban. Befuddled as to what she'd just seen, she closed her eyes and willed an explanation to surface. Slithering through long buried memories and forgotten dreams for naught. For she could never have anticipated an awakening so profound.

Days after envisioning that first glimpse of a new arrival, the cell beside hers took up a new resident. Just as she had foreseen, Bellatrix Lestrange was thrown into the cell adjoining hers. The temperature, having dropped to near freezing the moment _they_ entered the hall. Every prisoner froze mid-breath from fear. The entire wing instantly grew as quiet as death, so as not to draw the dementors' attention. After sealing her cell, they glided back down the hall out of sight.

The banshee of a woman proceeded to lash out at both the surrounding walls, as well as her fellow prisoners' ears. Nothing stood safe from her wrath. It was not long after, that she began raving in agony over her Lord's demise. Causing the young woman one cell over to bite down on her fingers, silencing her violent cries. Over the years, Bellatrix screeched of fading tattoos and hundreds of other illegible things. It was difficult to decipher every piece of her rants, for they rose and fell like raindrops in a monsoon. Seemingly without rhyme or rhythm, they would disappear into the unchanging abyss before drowning them in the night.

Weeks went by before the ghoulish woman could steady her mental activity to a calm baseline. Her thoughts, while at first thunderous soon faded into a deathly silence. After finally achieving a pure immutable placidity, the ghostly pale young woman began to experience more and more contact from the Otherside. These short premonitions, continued on; never lasting more than a few minutes at most. Her whispering appeared nonsensical to her neighbors, but Bellatrix's interest piqued. Pressing her ear to the wall at her neighbor's broken ravings, in hopes to disentangle their disheveled meaning.

The once ethereal young woman, now looked as though all color had been drained from her body. Ashen, like death incarnate. After having only briefly laid eyes on her young neighbor's appearance, Bellatrix quickly came to call her Spectre. The dark eyed brunette briefly considered that the girl was in fact one of the dead or rather undead, but was unsure why she would partake in meals if that were the case. Bellatrix's nickname became echoed by the others, as their silent neighbor never revealed her true identity. Lost in her own world of visions, the pale beauty became dislocated from the others. Memories and foresight took her to a world beyond desolate concrete and metal.

* * *

During her short stay at Hogwarts, she'd quickly became intrigued with the study surrounding the origins of Magic. Though many subjects revolved around the topic, Divination itself once stood at the heart of ancient civilization. A religion, once practiced by those of magical means; attempting to connect with the world beyond. The delicate subject stands apart from most modern teachings, as it's rooted so deeply in tenuous belief. Though a less than impressive study itself, she'd begun sorting through every word she'd read regarding The Sight.

Countless witches and wizards had attempted to force The Sight, with little success. Anything from taking opiates, to weakening their bodies to the point of magical exhaustion; brought nigh a result. From what she'd understood, the mind had to reach a higher plane; untouched by her surroundings. Only then, would she be allowed a glimpse into the fabric of time. Quickly realizing her newly discovered ability, she cultured her mind to attune itself to magic's fervent call. At times while forgoing sleep, she could maintain her meditation for days on end. Not a month later, while she fought to escape her neighbor's barbaric caterwauling, she was given a glimpse into the happenings of the world outside those cursed walls.

She quickly discovered how temperamental each vision could be. How quick a vision could turn. Each decision made, altered the consequences in some way, shape, or form. Countless possibilities began to assault her senses, even in sleep. In this place of overwhelming darkness, she dreamed of the past and the future intertwined.

* * *

_**SHUDDER.** _

Forced from her thoughts, she felt the floor beneath her quake. Eyelids slowly rising, her pupils remained unchanged in the darkness. Rubble fell from the ceiling around her, long after the disruption.

_**SHUDDER.**_ Again the room shakes. Voices. She could hear her neighbors crying out, pleading for release. _Plebeians,_ she scoffed.

_**SHUDDER.**_ _Its getting closer_ , she decides.

Slowly, she arose from her cot. Running her hand along the wall to the gate. Grasping these cold metal bars, between her bony hands. Designed to keep her inside, as much as her jailers out. The dementors, who rarely lingered outside her cell; much preferring to feed from the others' memories. Those who'd once lived pleasant little lives before winding up locked in a box. Such memories were far more delectable than her flavorless void.

Turning left and right, she tried to find the cause of her awakening. Though to be truthful, she hadn't been sleeping. The thought of such dream filled splendor, had abandoned her long before. Her visions had both blessed and cursed her, with their ever-frequent flashes into the world beyond. Her happier memories, drowned out by the devastating news surrounding the fall of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Within these walls, meditation was her savior. Her protector. Her salvation.

Days turned into nights here. Everlasting night. Filled with nothing but the cold, dread-filled horror that the dementors brought. She wondered sometimes, if her silence was worth it. When all she wished to do was scream. Join her voice with her neighbors' cries of anguish. But instead, she keeps her silence. Waiting for the day, she'd glimpsed over a decade before.

That vision haunted her the most. It gave her such foul, tainted hope and because of that, every day stretched on an eternity. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the moon's rays shining down on her skin. That shadowy figure stepping forward to liberate her. His dark aura pulsing through the air between them. Wind whipped his robes out around him. Her manacles falling to the ground, unbinding her magic once more.

_**SHUDDER.** _

She can hear the walls tearing themselves from their home. Blasting inward. _Someone has come calling. Naughty. It is most polite to knock first,_ she thinks humorously. Laughs of maniacal glee resound from the cell next to hers and she finds herself eager to join. _He's here._

_**BOOM.**_ Everything inside of her rattles from this blast. Bellatrix begins cackling in dark amusement. Possibly the first bit of joy the blustering bat had felt, these past 14 years. _Dreams do come true_ , she sarcastically thinks. Tilting her forehead against the bars, and turning to eagerly face the destruction behind her.

She steps lightly over fallen debris to the far wall. Her dry cracked fingers run down the wide rivulet in the concrete, from between their cells. _Oh Salazar, what a pleasant day this was turning out to be._ She edges closer, hearing Bellatrix climb to her freedom, over the remnants of the crumbling wall. Something must catch her wild eyes, as they pan over the night sky. She drops to her knees, sending the gravel scattering around her form, or digging into her skeletal-like knees. The ghostly pale woman tries to imagine what could bring this fierce woman to her knees, jaw slackening, at it's glory.

_"My Lord."_ With those words, she honors this man.

With both palms flat against the wall the blonde listens raptly, gasping in pleasure as soon as his title leaves the brunette's mouth. The sound is quickly swallowed by the salty breeze, picking up off the rising tide outside. A few stray blonde locks fly up around her face, from the wind seeping in. She can feel a few try to make their escape back through the breach. She thinks this is what catches Bellatrix's eye.

The raving madwoman turns back toward her cell in surprise, knees scraping across the dirt. Her wild eyes finally catching an undisturbed view of the young girl, who had been her silent companion ever since her hasty arrival, all those year previous. The piercing eyes that could penetrate through the thickest of walls, burned into the girl's skin. Those flint-like Black family orbs yearned to peel back the girl's pure alabaster skin, uncovering her every secret and desire.

It was at that exact moment that the aging witch asked not _who are you_ , but _"What are you?"_

Causing the most luminescent of smiles to emit from the pale young woman's cell. Her deftly feminine fingertips began to run along the cleavage, of what used to be, a reinforced slab. She hummed quietly to herself, as she let her unerringly powerful senses creep outside the confines of the magically famed prison.

She could feel it. Or rather it's what she _couldn't_ feel. The magic that once kept these walls strong against weathering and attack throughout the ages, was torn asunder in just a few seconds time. Sickeningly weak against the thunderous force of his magic. Fallen to ashes, under this man's sheer power and will. _I will soon be free_ , she thought. _Free to run. Free to hunt. Free to kill,_ she hissed at last. For trivial things like the lack of a wand, mattered naught to her. For she knew magic in its purest form. Her very heart pulsed with the raging thrum of her power. No, she would not be confined to the mercy of a meager wooden when she'd been forced to endure these walls for coming upon 50 years, while her body remained ageless. Her everlasting youth stood as tangible proof of her abilities.

His piercingly carmine eyes glowed brightly back at her. Fiercely determined to uncover who dared interrupt his most loyal follower's feverish praise. Her mind raged, as the Dark Lord stared questionably back at her long-awaited reappearance without recognition. No longer did she cage her temper in the calm pulsing eye of the storm. In that moment, her fury sustained her. She could taste vengeance on her tongue.

And with her cage weakened, she could feel his aura; just as he could hers. Dark magic flowed through his veins stronger than ever before, as her ever elusive vision had alluded. His magic pulsed with life, death, and untempered power. _Such dark beauty. Such strength,_ she purrs inside the confines of her demented mind. She feels his magic reach out to touch hers, and like feeling sunlight bathe your skin in warmth, she shivered.

Shuddering in euphoria, she thought: _It's been so long since I've felt such a pure seduction to the Dark._ Only one such a man could carry such a weight on his soul. Containing it tightly in a vice-like grip, rivalling even the deadliest of snakes. She can hear him inhale sharply, as her magic stroked his with the lightest of touch; like feathers on the bare skin. Testing hers. Tasting the Dark Magic surging up to the surface in silent greeting. Though her heart had leapt into her throat, she could not help but to breathe out her haughty impatience.

_"Brother, mine. You've kept me waiting."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaken awake by the sound of Azkaban's walls crumbling. An ethereal young woman is offered freedom, by the only man who had ever spoken to her soul, in a language she understood. Though he remembers naught, like a whisper to his ears, every fragment of his soul knows her.

**Iridescent**

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark.

**Chapter Two- Mindscape**

She didn't know what thoughts were warring inside him, but his brow inched north at her high-handed tone. From the pulsing of his magic alone, she knew it was him. His temper urged him to kill the audacious witch for her tone, and yet his utter confusion at her use of endearment won out. A long moment of silence rang out, from the either side of the wall. Neither the crashing of the Atlantic's bone-chilling waves, nor the moaning cries from within the prison were heard by the trio. Until finally their silence was broken by the raging voice of the woman, who'd long been her morning songbird over the years. Waking her from thought and slumber.

_"What madness do you speak, my pretty?"_

" _Bella!"_ A masculine voice sliced through the air between them. Silencing her outburst, before she could work herself into a state. His voice caressing every word, in a sibilant nature. Though, remaining weighted in manner. She knew she had acquired his attention.

" _You are mistaken, child. I have no family."_

_So, it was true,_ she hissed in fury at the one who had touched things, he shouldn't have. Though, she had always known in her heart, that if his mind remained intact, he would have come for her. Just as she would him. _Memories were such a precious thing. Housed deep in your mind, when all else had abandoned you._ Jaw clenching in anguish, she had to force herself to push through the pain she was feeling biting away at my insides.

She knew her next words, would be weighed and measured. Determining her worth to his cause. Always planning ahead. _Some things never change._

She pressed her temple against the cool crumbling cement wall.

_"And if I told you, that I knew who had stolen from you, precious things! Would you allow me the honor, of telling you?"_ She inquired.

Knowing he'd heard her soft voice, though it was not much louder than a whisper. Overtop the breaking waves from the approaching storm, he heard her as clearly as if she had spoken from right beside him. Her tongue caressed her syllables with such passion. Sibilant sounds honoring his ancestors beautifully. His Nagini would approve of her flawless pronunciation.

Cocking his head in perilous interest, his breathing immediately ceased. His eyes dissected every inch of her face that he could see. Within the depths of her pitch black cell, her long white blonde hair cascaded down; glowing in contrast to her dark surroundings. Shielding her eyes from view, while giving her a natural barrier from prying eyes. From the sharp angles of her prominent cheekbones to the soft curve of her lips, she made quite a striking image. _A ghost come to lif_ e, he thought.

Footsteps approached from over the ridge, sending rocks careening in their haste to be by their Lord's side. Falling to their knees in supplication, they chanted his title exultingly.

_So the others had finally scampered out of their cells, like little rats. Begging for scraps, the fumbling imbeciles_ , The Dark Lord wryly thought. Sneering at their pathetic display. He despised helping those who'd been too mentally deficient to help themselves. There were only but a handful of Death Eaters who deserved his attentions, and the others' complete incompetence couldn't be helped. He'd ensure they were properly punished for their loose lipped arrests. Of that, he had no doubt. Bellatrix silenced their cries, with a loud bark.

_"QUIET."_ Slashing her arm through the air to silence their interruption.

The others knew instinctively to obey her command. For the very moment Bellatrix Lestrange arose from Azkaban's walls, she'd taken back her position as his most favored. Their Lord greatly admired her ability to read his moods, so effortlessly. His War General who held rank above the men, as if a thousand years of gender inequality didn't exist.

He waited with baited breath, almost hoping one of them opened their mouth once more. His magic sizzled to life, causing the tips of his fingers to tingle in anticipation. All but seconds away from ripping their tongues forcibly from their bodies, had they not ceased their constant mewling. Truly, the only sounds he wished to hear was their cries of supplication and pain under his hand. It had been so long since he'd _really_ tested the limits of a perfectly-cast Cruciatus.

His eyes never faltered from their intense study of the waif, standing just a few meters in front of him. Scrutinizing her every breath as if to piece together just how she came to think herself so familiar to him. _And who would want to?_ His mind remained flummoxed as to the true state of her prison-addled mind. He, who had killed the last of his family off before graduating from Hogwarts. Those disgraceful fools who had let his family name disintegrate beneath them, and left him to rot in that Muggle version of Azkaban, named Wool's.

Bellatrix, herself couldn't help but to wonder at what the girl had said to the Dark Lord. For he seemed to be riveted to her every breath. _Pretty little_ _Spectre, what ever could you have to hide?_ She queried, glaring back over at the cowering men who'd just raised their Master's ire. Eager to see if any had inched closer, giving her just cause to strike. But alas, she was forced to return her hawk-like gaze unto the only other female, to have captured her Lord's attentions so.

Over the years, Bellatrix had wheedled as much as she could from the other prisoners. Some spoke of her never changing beauty. Debating amongst themselves, whether or not she was truly a ghost, for nary a word did she speak. Others told a tale, told to them by their predecessors. A girl carried unconscious to her cage by a bearded man, half a century before.

She wasn't sure what to make of most of their tales; each more inconceivable than the last. But even she had to admit, the existence of such a phenomenon wasn't as impossible as others would believe. For she had stood at her Lord's side through the years, as he wore alternating faces to defy death's many attempts. But on subject of everlasting youth, she would admit that such a thing would be highly problematic, if not devastatingly ambitious for such a young woman. She couldn't fathom the sheer will one would need, in order to succeed.

From inside her cell, the blond wraith had turned slightly to face the newcomers; the dwindling remnants of the great Death Eater regime. Those loyal followers whom had been captured after his fall. Finally released to once more, serve him ever so faithfully.

Just as she heard their commotion die down, she suddenly caught the sound of careful footsteps approaching her cell.

_"Of what precious things, do you speak little one?"_

His voice twisted deftly around each syllable. Parseltongue whispering through the air around them. He spoke to her tentatively. Utterly taken aback by her unorthodox use of his ancestral tongue; used so casually between two strangers. For to him, she was but a child. Tortured and left abandoned in the crevices of Azkaban. Forgotten by any whom might remember who this young woman once was. _Still,_ Voldemort thought, _she seeks the comfort from a lost sibling. One whom may never return._ And for the rarest of moments, he feels pity. Almost apologetic for the confusion clouding her mind. Though he could not deny a sinister twist of curiosity addling his mind. Encouraging him to discover what other secrets dwelled in the deepest recesses of the most famed Magical Prison on the continent.

She smiled assuredly. Raising two fingers to tap against her temple.

_"What is mine, is yours My Lord,"_ she proposed. Giving no hesitancy whatsoever, toward the idea of him entering her mind. Lowering her shields, just as a door materialized in her fortress; swinging forth in anticipation of his long awaited return. He approached with hesitant steps, wary of any hidden protection spells underfoot.

If he was shocked by her forwardness, he said nothing. All the while, she could do little more than twist her fingers idly down the cracked veins running through the concrete. Watching his slow approach with an avaricious desperation, . Towering only a meter away, as she continued to stare serenely at his form. His palm rested flat onto the stonework, bracing himself to breach her mind's depths.

She could feel his slithering mind edge toward hers, just as easy as she could feel his dark magical aura, pulsing with vitality. Even sustaining the damage it did during the horcrux process & his sudden death, hadn't diminished any of his raw power. Merely forced him into a new shell.

One had to truly be able to understand, the essence of what magic really was, to see what she could. Her senses themselves, were quite keen. Possessing the ability to perceive magical influence in the air around her. But then again, ever since she was a young child, she'd always been able to see past what others see.

* * *

As long as she'd remembered, she'd been different. Tom once described her mind to her, as being built like a clock set to run counterclockwise. She still got to the same place the others did, only through alternate means. Many times, instinctively finding a more efficient manner altogether.

In school, few could wrap their head around some of the leaps her mind made and as such, she had long felt a disconnect from her peers. Paired with her heightened IQ, it was a recipe for solitude. As such, she could often be found wandering alone through the halls; speaking with portraits over some of her most recent discoveries. Something far too intricate to explain to the simpletons, who clustered in the halls; spreading the tastiest gossip they'd heard that week.

She engineered different methods to utilize her magical sensitivity. Listening to its ebb and flow rather than to the strict teachings the books would have them adhere to. Vera found herself developing qualities similar to that of her brother. His skill and intellect quickly marked him as being somewhat of a child prodigy to others. Nothing she herself had not previously admired, or recognized as a youngling. The children back at Wool's were riotously jealous of his high marks, which only fueled their bitterness after Tom had treated them with such palpable disdain. She however, remained somewhat of an unknown element in their eyes. Tom never allowed for much idle chatter to pass between the others and his sister. He watched over her guardedly; ever suspicious they might take their resentment out on her, unwarranted.

As they grew of age, their magic became an addictive force. It mattered naught whether they were away at what the other children thought was 'some dodgy boarding school,' or alone in the confines of the Muggle World, they practiced endlessly. Wand in hand or wandless, they'd practice long into the night. Their classmates at Hogwarts never understood the desperation, living in a world not their own brought. Forced to hide everything about themselves, or be taken to the nut house hung over their heads at all times. Their greedy natures, paired with the two's shared eidetic memory, led to them spending nearly every free moment inside the library's walls. Earning them additional respect from their elders, had their well-spoken manner not already acquired them the respect they'd deserved.

Time never seemed to stand still during those months away from the orphanage. It rushed through their fingers, like sand in a hourglass. But no matter how desperately they clung to it, the winter months passed and the days lengthened, as summer grew ever more on the horizon. It was the time when nature presented them its most punishing contradiction. The brightest time of the year, when life thrived and rejoiced over making it through yet another frigid winter, instead persecuted them with its arrival.

The sweltering sunlight had the tendency to reveal faults in the orphanage's staunchly under-compensated budget. The whitewashed walls, which had been white at some point, mirrored the depressingly grey streets of London at the time. The paint peeled, and the woodworkings showed signs of mold and deterioration around the edges. As though the place was ready to fall apart at any moment, but waylaid such an event out of some stalwart desire to cause the young Slytherin heirs complete and utter misery.

As such, they heartily refused to squander their allotted time by falling victim to childish games and trifles, as others their age had. Professors quickly learned to make certain allowances, for their remarkable aptitude in spell-crafting. Very rarely did anyone question her differing wand motions, or diverging from a potion's recipe. Professor Slughorn praised her talents as something beyond the normal potioneer, at once. He had the propensity to announce her success to the class, as her brother grumbled under his breath. Fighting to achieve utter perfection, without deviating from the recipe's strict stipulations. Causing her to fight a war of her own, not to break into giggles at the way his eyes would check and recheck the book fifty times over, so as not to miss a single step. Working hard to earn his grade in the class, much as she did Arithmancy. His dedication endeared her, as she knew how hard he studied to understand the why's behind the chemical bonding and separation involved in potion-making. He simply wasn't adept to the subject, like he was at spellcraft. He was built to fight. To create and destroy, that was something she couldn't deny. His need for control fed it. His dominance, demanded it.

Long before their years at Hogwarts, they'd practiced controlling their powers. Those who spoke out against them or lingered too closely, were quickly dealt with. The other children couldn't explain the things that would happen. None of the attendants could explain it, though Mrs. Cole, the Headmistress, was determined to find blame in the twins. Without fail, if one had been wronged earlier that day, the other was never far off when an 'event' occurred. They protected one another, long after the magical world had left them to rot in that filthy orphanage. Because of this, the twins' bond grew into something unheard of before. As if they were one entity, split into two bodies. If one felt pain, they both did. If one was ill, the other couldn't be kept away. They always found a way back to each other.

Both maintained a united front, as they began developing traits which marked them as 'of a different sort' to the staff and other children. Their hatred grew after having survived multiple attempts by the Headmistress to quell their 'freakish ways.'

As the years went on, Tom himself became quite the golden boy at Hogwarts. As his sister, she overheard many a conversation in the girls' bathroom; each jockeying for a chance to speak with him. Nearly every witch sought to capture his attention, much to his initial annoyance. Though, quickly he realized the gift in such a thing. He could have had any witch in half of Europe, with his charms and strikingly good looks, but he paid them no mind. Though his ability to sway nearly every witch or wizard around became quite an asset to his cause, as he quickly built a following amongst them. An exclusive crop of their peers. These few Slytherins, would soon after become his first collection of followers. Death Eaters before their time, one might say.

Throughout their time at Hogwarts, they proceeded to grasp classes and spellwork beyond others of their age. Slytherin House as a whole, acknowledged them as Purebloods, whose family had perished; for they would have been unable to be sorted there otherwise. Nary a word was spoken as to their strange last name. One or two from other Houses questioned their status, but were quickly put in their place. For neither twin would suffer such blatant disrespect, surrounding their lineage.

Well into their teenage years, as he grew into the figurehead of Slytherin House, she began to turn many an eye. Her use of magic blossomed into an art form, in it's own right. Leaving many of her teachers speechless at her innovations & sound insight. Though male eyes followed her for a much different reason. Tom & his followers formed a circle around her, shielding her from those fumbling idiots who dared to try and speak with her. Her brother was immeasurably cruel to her admirers.

He grew to be so paranoid, he forged her a pearlescent pendant made from the finest of moonstone; charmed to alert him of her distress. It was because of this necklace, that he knew to come to her on the night she was taken from Hogwarts. Sensing her pain and fear, he rushed to her aide. Never questioning for a second, who might have been behind her torment.

* * *

But there on Azkaban's guarded shores, the Atlantic ocean roared through their ears, as everything else faded away. Memories fell into the abyss as they gazed at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. His silhouette shined in the moonlight overhead, while she disappeared into the overwhelming darkness of her cell. His mind grasped hold of her proffered invitation, sliding through the threshold of her mind effortlessly. Quickly taken aback by the cathedral-worthy architecture inside. He couldn't help but to applaud her skill in the craft. Few could manipulate the scenery inside one's mind, even fewer were able to create such a detailed stronghold; able to preserve one's thoughts. Something like this, he'd expect from the likes of Dumbledore, or himself.

Light shined down on his snake-like visage, causing him to gaze skyward at the sunlit glass in the domed ceiling overhead. She guided him to a set of doors, beyond the entrance hall and down two flights of stairs. Her white-blonde hair stood nearly incandescent in the sun's rays, cascading about her face and giving her a halo of protection against his piercing stare.

It was with great triumph that her abilities finally became acknowledged by the Dark Lord. His hardened mask slipped ever so slightly at the sheer marvel of the place around him. Stained glass covered the cylindrical wall of the stairwell. Thousands of pieces placed with such precision, to make up the grand image of a sea of snakes. Intertwining with one another, following their downward spiral.

Trailing his fingers just inches away from the glass tiles, he sensed multiple overlaid codes warding memories from sight. Warming his skin in it's potent energy. Foreign languages were used throughout the piece, serving as an added layer of protection against prying eyes.

The hallway just beyond, led them to a series of doors. Each panel along the walls and floors, whether brick, tile, or stone had been expertly placed to hide her secrets. He gazed back at her modest appearance, more than a little taken aback by her magical ability. Even he had never seen Occlumency taken to such heights. One would have to be a master of the Mind Arts to create half of the mental palisades she exhibited without care.

Halting in front of a vast set of double doors, she passed her hands in a series of gestures mid-air. Unlocking more wards, much the same as he'd encountered inside Gringotts's depths. Locks clicked into place and the doors smoothly swung open, allowing them entrance. All at once giving him a view into where she had spent most of her time, over the years. Her grand library stretched as far deep as the eye could see. Dwarfing the Great Hall in Hogwarts by nearly twofold. The circular room stood nearly as breathtaking as the Muggle's Coliseum. The undeniable opulence, appealing greatly to the eye. Similar to the royal ballrooms of old. Streaming light in through the domed ceiling, drew attention immediately to the strange flooring.

Covered in one unending sheet of mirrored glass, the floor made one feel as though they would fall right through. Her inside joke on her brother, as she used to tell him much in the same whenever he'd disappear for hours on end, while in the school's library. She jested to the mild possibility that such an event might take him from her, to which he'd quickly responded that such an occurrence could never happen, for he could never be kept away from her. She was his Sun, his light. For without her, he knew no warmth. No life could survive the blistering cold his wrath would bring, without her by his side. He spoke determinedly, as though he was making an unbreakable vow to himself that day.

Where as Tom enjoyed sitting by the fires in the back nooks of the school's illustrious library, She had much preferred to learn from the greats that roamed the halls. Those figures captured eternally in the canvas walls of the school, offered much insight into the ancient ways. The originating rituals and magical scripture that had been long forgotten in the school's descent from Pureblooded teachings, were often more potent than anything they practice in their day and age. Her strange inclinations proved fruitful, when time after time she was able to explain why certain magical components reacted to stimuli accordingly. She was able to follow a spell's derivative ancestry to bind it to another, or to determine if it held a volatile base; which would affect the method by which she would proceed.

The ever more lucrative lesson was learning how to temper its strength for her purposes. Tracing the spell back to its source could change a simple _Tergeo,_ cleaning charm into the rune for _Destroy._ The derivative in many cases was powerful enough to kill indiscriminately, as well as over a broad spectrum. Such was the reasoning behind the development of the wand, in fact. Created to funnel one's magic safely, while runes were created to decimate through magical means. It was a culmination of magical strength, manifesting itself through violence. A means which saved and ended countless lives, as neighboring villages warred endlessly.

She had first adopted The Old Ways as her way to honor their ancestors, but she soon realized the potential in harnessing such a thing. The Old Ways were founded in a time when Magic was so raw, so ferocious that Merlin and Morgana themselves, had been some of the last to tame it within their grasp. Not this weak mockery the school taught nowadays, watered down by generations of Mudbloods, as Hephaestus Montague liked to grouse about whenever she could lend the elderly wizard her ear. He wasn't much of a talker, and it was only by means of her revealing her connection to the school's founding father, did he utter a word in her direction. He remained stoutly prejudiced even in death, though she could admit he had his purpose.

As a one of Hogwart's first renown spellcrafters, he could concisely describe the methodology behind one of her most burgeoning interests. For he had found the connecting points by which to connect wizard or witch to wand, with his partner Ophelia Ollivander back in 1008A.D. Much as Garrick Ollivander led them to the discovery of their own wands, Ophelia led Hephaestus to the significance each ingredient had to its owner. Magical harmony existed, in such a manner that one's core had to find balance when combined with the wand's core. A mirroring image, must exist for magic to travel conducively. Meaning if one were to bind their wand's ingredients to a spell or ritual, the circuits would bind into each other tenfold. Something no witch or wizard her age could ever hope to master, none the less, grasp. Theoretically, this was something she could profit immensely from, if she had any desire to become magically legendary. Alas, she had far greater plans than simply becoming a famed spellcrafter.

Much greater plans indeed.

* * *

Shaking her head to rid her thoughts, she proceeded to walk toward her destination.

Stacks lined the walls surrounding the room. In the center sat a collection of fine leather upholstered furnishings, surrounded by two semi-circled low standing walls. Both of which stood bereft in the daylight hours. Granules of glass shards stretched out overtop the barrier. The flames would erupt from the glass-lined tier, every sunset; such was her will. She lit Botswana Agate for it's calming properties. Burned in a circle to maximize magical currents in the air.

Just off to the side of the circle, a dark wood desk domineered beautifully.

He stepped toward the heart of the vast room. Feet carrying him to the furniture, running his finger down their dragon-hide leather backed chairs, before whipping around to face her. Wand aimed at her, while he circled predatorily.

_"What is the meaning of this?"_ Waving his arm toward the dark leather covered chairs, in frustration. For he had seen those very pieces, sitting proudly in Slytherin Manor just hours before.

In fact, the desk looked startlingly familiar as well. Even their placement correlated with the pieces in his home. His ancestral home, that he had spent the last few months reviving from it's decade of slumber, in his wake. Having only just discovered of it's existence, when the prophecy had been foretold. Forcing his attentions away from his war efforts, to track down the Potter boy.

He was quite confident no living being had stepped foot in Slytherin Manor, in over 800 years. Upon his entrance every evening, the wards sent out magical readings. He could feel his ancestor's magic holding strong, nearly one thousand years later. In all those years, only three magical signatures had ever crossed the manor's wards. The first carried Salazar's distinct air about it. The second his son, Vidar. The third, his very own.

It was a tragedy all its own. Upon his arrival just months before, the Manor stood to be more aptly described as a tomb, than the palace he knew it to be. In one thousand years, only three pairs of eyes had ever marveled it's rich splendor. In age, the home stood nearly as ancient as Hogwart's itself, and only three men had ever walked it's elegant halls.

The house itself, lived off the dark enchantments, placed upon it by his ancestor in his final days. It's isolation however, originated not from a break in the direct descendant line. But rather, followed Vidar's descent into madness. Long before he had killed Helena Ravenclaw, he'd begun to devolve mentally; growing more unstable as the months wore on.

The house's wards locked down immediately upon her death, sensing no worthy candidate in existence. The Manor's final failsafe to preserve the integrity Salazar had imbued into it's very foundation. Disappearing from sight and memories altogether, as was Salazar's will. Broken, and with no memory of love or home, Vidar ended his life. Cursed even in death, as his spirit took the form of The Bloody Baron.

Centuries past, as the home stood lost through the ages. Until one day, the wards rattled. Shaken awake by a man so dark, the world quivered in fear. As heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, he was tested. The dark magic surrounding the manor found him worthy, at once. The ancient wards wove around his magic, sending out a beacon; invisible to all except it's recipient. He, who had only ever found safety in Hogwarts' enveloping walls; found his home, at long last.

But in this home, Voldemort could feel echoes of Vidar's madness reverberating off the stone walls. He harbored disgust for his ancestor's weakness. Paltry feelings like love and longing, he had cast out of himself years before; with those six pieces of his soul. Salazar's presence however, roused his fighting spirit. It was with Salazar's encouragement, that he stormed the Wizarding Prison with naught but his wand and his mind. His first advance on the battlefield, and toward taking back what was rightfully his.

And so here he loomed, wand pressed into her sternum, as she raised her arm.

Grasping his wand tighter in anticipation, he held a curse at the tip of his tongue. Ready to show her how unamused he was by her efforts, assuming she'd meant to retaliate against his threat of violence. But instead of lashing out at him, she simply shifted her hair. Uncovering her eyes. Finally allowing him to view the pale coloring that covered her pupils and irises completely.

His realization of her blindness caused him to stagger back, sucking in a breath in shock. He was so disturbed by her appearance, his eyes flared wide. Blindness was a nearly unheard of condition for a witch or wizard. St. Mungo's had the means, by which to cure such an hindrance.

" _My impairment allows me to utilize forms of magic hidden from plain sight."_ She speaks formally, as if he had not just spurned her appearance so rudely. He, whose face looked more monster than man.

" _I've long ago established a connection to the Otherside. Allowing me to see glimpses into the future."_ She pauses, allowing him a moment to take in what she was telling him. _"Mine. Yours. Even strangers."_ She continued. _"That's how I've been able to see inside your fortress, Lord Voldemort."_

He reared back at what she had just told him. He had not heard of a Seer's existence since reading an entry back when he worked in Borgin and Burkes, all those years ago. An old dame had brought in a couple of her dead husband's books, and he remembered one concerning the darker side to Divination. Stories of old, telling of Morgana herself to be the most powerful Dark Seer ever in existence. Though much was left unknown concerning the pair's abilities. Lost to time.

If this child, barely a woman, before him bore even a hint of such a great gift, she would soon find herself under his ever watchful eye. For he would not suffer the Light getting their hands on her, and gaining an edge in the war. Undeniable proof, in the form of a vision; not just a pithy furniture display.

_"And, these visions, do they happen at whim? Or have you not managed to reverse the influx?"_ He was finally speaking with some of his usual bite. Having grown irritable with her continual ability to throw him off balance. He, who was always in such tight control. Shaken by a confused girl, who can't have long been out of Hogwarts gates. Whether she was vastly gifted in the field of Occlumency or foresight, he would not stand anyone's resistance. If she sought freedom from her confines, she would bow to his will.

She blinked blankly, at his tone. Untouched by the dark thoughts brewing in his mind.

" _Both. They are both subjective and sent when I am meant to receive them."_ Turning away from him, she grasped her hands behind her back, leisurely. As if they were simply discussing the weather. _"I have grown quite fond of your great library, through my visions. The air there almost vibrates with an eery calm. It's uncanny I must say. I have sought to replicate the feeling, though the result is somewhat milder than the original. Mental Magics only extend so far."_

Her apt description of the library's aura, told him just how detailed her visions were. For Salazar had spent years perfecting the room's mental influence. Voldemort found himself growing quite intrigued by the possibilities such a seer could have for their side. Schemes ran through his mind once more, with a renewed rush. _"If you wish to be released…"_

" _My visions also told me you might one day seek me out, and here you are."_ She interrupted. _"Forgive my intrusion."_ She quickly apologized. _"I fear we have only a few minutes more time, before my captor makes an appearance. He's extremely cumbersome, and I'd rather like to be at full strength when I torture him into insanity."_

Causing a sudden burst of air to try and escape his lungs. He had but a second's time to silence the outburst; which he quickly identified as some sort of chuckle. Laughter, he surmised. Caused by such a delicate creature speaking to him of mental torture, so flippantly. Gathering himself, he calmly stalked across the room behind her.

When she turned to make her way toward the far wall, she stopped short. Flicking her hand out in the manner one would mount a broomstick, she flipped her palm facing up and the mirrored floor, cracked beneath her ministrations. As the floor rose up, some three meters or so, she flicked her hand out to grab a heavy tome, from a rising shelf; ceasing it's escalation.

It's crimson leather binding crackling from disuse, as she set it upon the desk scanning through it's contents. Flicking the pages aside, pausing on the page 297. Quietly mumbling a quick incantation, she nodded her head assuredly as the page began to pulse. Reading the inscription magically, she knew she had found just the memory, she was looking for.

" _Do you still wish to see the forgotten My Lord? These memories that were taken from you will not come easy."_ She peered blankly at his visage. Untouched by his threatening features.

" _I do, yes. But be forewarned; if you waste my time, you will not live to see another vision."_ He spoke firmly. Uninterested in her idle chatter.

" _Threats now?"_ She stated dispassionately. Quite unimpressed with his tone on the matter.

" _Only a promise."_ He quipped.

" _You should know that the mind, once bereft has a tendency to do strange things indeed. You may never remember fully, what you have lost."_

" _Then so be it."_ He resolutely stated.

She nodded agreeably, and turned back to the book; engaging it's contents once more. A mere moment more and light took hold of them both; bursting forth from the pages before them. Then as if diving into a pensive, her memory flew forth. Swallowing them both inside it's grasp, without so much as a second's hesitance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've recently reposted this story after some heavy renovations, on both FanFiction and here. I hope everyone enjoys what I've created here. Any kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. I'd be more than happy to respond to any thoughts or concerns.
> 
> I also co-write a story with WarriorHime53, called 'The Monster Within.' If you like the writing but aren't a fan of the darker themes I work with here, I encourage you to check it out. As always, until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Iridescent**

_Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller_

_A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

_No Copyright Infringement Intended_

_All rights belong to JK Rowling_

_As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may_ _write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark._

_**Previously On Chapter 2** _ _:_

When she turned to make her way toward the far wall, she stopped short. Flicking her hand out in the manner one might mount a broomstick, she flipped her palm facing up and the mirrored floor, cracked beneath her ministrations. As the floor rose up, some three meters or so, she flicked her hand out to grab a heavy tome, from a rising shelf; ceasing it's escalation.

It's crimson leather binding crackling from disuse, as she set it upon the desk scanning through it's contents. Flicking the pages aside, pausing on the page 297. Quietly mumbling a quick incantation, she nodded her head assuredly as the page began to pulse. Reading the inscription magically, she knew she had found just the memory, she was looking for.

" _Do you still wish to see the forgotten, My Lord?"_ She peered blankly at his visage. Untouched by his threatening features. _"These memories that were taken from you will not come easy."_

He spoke firmly. Uninterested in her idle chatter. " _I do, yes. But be forewarned girl; if you waste my time, you will not live to see another vision."_

" _Threats now?"_ She stated dispassionately. Quite unimpressed with his tone on the matter.

" _Only a promise."_ He quipped.

" _You should know that the mind, once bereft has a tendency to do strange things indeed. You may never remember fully, what you have lost."_

" _Then so be it."_ He resolutely stated.

She nodded agreeably, and turned back to the book; engaging it's contents once more. A mere moment more and light took hold of them both; bursting forth from the pages before them. Then as if diving into a pensive, her memory flew forth. Swallowing them both inside it's grasp, without so much as a second's hesitance.]

* * *

**Chapter Three: Who Are You?**

The activated pensive radiated a near blinding light. Effectively eclipsing the room from their eyes, as their bodies jolted forward from the memory's pull. Jostling them as though they were mere puppets, pulled forth by invisible strings. The soles of their shoes lifted off from the mirrored glass, landing instead on a heavily worn stone floor. As the light began to fade away, they found themselves in an entirely new place altogether.

Voldemort's piercing grey eyes swept briskly over every detail before him. His snake like features made to appear all the more menacing, by the scowl he wore upon his brow. His lips curled up into a sneer worthy of a Malfoy, but his eyes glinted dangerously in a manner all their own. He had to wonder what he was even doing here; deep within the mind of someone who called him 'brother.' This ghost of a woman whom he could put neither a name, nor a face to.

If this was a ploy to gain his attention for some undisclosed reason, that prison cell which held her captive would soon seem exceedingly gracious by all accounts. However, his curiosity burned a fissure deep inside this broken remnant of his soul. An emotion that was not entirely unfamiliar to him. He had after all, felt it many a time before. Pursuits of power had always required a great deal of laborious inquisition. At least, any which bore notable results.

Still, his mind stood far from idle at her actions. Her existence perplexed him. Why would this wraith of a woman allow him entrance into her mind? Did she think to try and manipulate him? He, The Dark Lord, whom even his most loyal of Death Eaters cowered at the thought of his mental intrusions. Admittedly, the state of her sanity would remain in question for the moment.

Despite acknowledging the annoyance that was etched upon his face, she remained completely immobile. Standing as still as a tree in the calm dead of night. Distancing herself from the horrors that lay buried deep, in the dark recesses of her mind. A technique that had served her well, all these years. This memory in particular, she had no desire to relive. After all, living it the first time was quite punishment enough.

The loss of her other half felt like some premeditated form of justice, decided upon long ago to ensure sufferance for her sins. Perhaps fate knew there was only but one thing she would truly mourn the loss of. A brother, cut from the same cloth. Sheltered together for nine months, in the womb of their now dead mother. Magical twins, bound irrevocably to the other, body and soul.

Her freedom, stood but a mere trifle in the face of losing him. Whether he wore the face of an aristocrat or a monster, he was hers and she was his.

* * *

Over the years, her visions had offered her great insight into the wizard he was today. She was full of such pride over his accomplishments. Standing before her now was a Dark Lord, whose power stretched beyond the foreign reaches of the globe. Thrice over, he had outlasted death. Whether by means of horcrux or otherwise, he had defied the laws of nature. His magic practically rained torrential waves of power. Of complete and utter dominance.

Nevertheless, she could not find the strength within herself to banish the images flurrying behind her eyes. Flashes of memories, lost in time. Two children, separated from the Magical World by unfortunate circumstance. Forced to rely on the only family they had left in this world. Two halves of a whole, stricken by cruelty at every turn. She could remember the feel of his body's warmth, clutching onto her through the harsh winter nights. Giving her his body heat when the threadbare quilts barely guarded against the slightest chill.

His instincts had always kept them safe. From the walls of their crib through the domineering gates of Hogwarts itself. He protected her as if she were the only other being in the world. And to her, he was all that existed. They were like predators in the wild; together they thrived.

Their souls latched onto the other's so possessively, it was difficult to feel where one ended and the other began. Wiping her from his memories, was no clean cut by any means. Her ties ran so deep inside him, she wondered how much further damage was done in the process. For she could certainly sense mental instability inside him. Something inside the eyes, revealing more than he could ever know. Even through her blindness she could _see,_ if not in the traditional sense of the word.

And if there was but one word to describe her pain, 'void' would be it. For with his loss, she felt bereft. She had suffered such great pain and loss. Far beyond what any other being had a right to. It wasn't fair for him to be spared the pain she felt cutting her insides so deeply. Spared the overwhelming truth that he was so maliciously denied. He was the only man that would ever hold a place in her heart. Her soul suffered immense agony at his loss.

Yet to him, she was nothing more than a disheveled stranger.

As much as it pained her, she knew she had to do this. Offering up her still bleeding wounds for his perusal. Stripping herself bare to be at his mercy. The manner of which, had never felt so daunting before. She only hoped that when it was all finished, she would finally know peace. For without his influence, she felt herself at war with herself. Cast out naked into the cruel world. Forgotten by all that loved her.

As the memory's originator, it was well within her power to withhold and to guide the vision. But instead, she felt compelled to give into her desperation. To let him feel the searing pain that intertwined with her every pleasurable memory. Her ability to love was scarred evermore by the loss of him, unforgiving in its honesty. So, she held nothing back.

_Let him see it all,_ she thought with torment curling around her heart like briars. _Let him try and find my lies_. For there were none to discover, no ploy that she heartbreakingly realized he was trying to uncover.

Her teeth gnashed together as she braced herself for the onslaught, in these moments he took the time to study her features, watchful for any chinks belying her calm nature. Mannerisms that would help him to establish a baseline; to be able to sieve truth from lie. Everyone had weaknesses, thoughts, and habits that they sought to hide. It was an unavoidable trait of the human condition. He cocked his head slightly as she gave no quarter to the rising discord inside her.

Her serene manner pleased him for some unknown reason. Perhaps it reminded him so much of the etiquette and respect the oldest of pure-blood families carried themselves. A trait he had always admired. Her control, impeccable; an attribute of which he associated closely with power. And power was something he coveted most fervently. He discovered himself grudgingly respectful of her discipline. And for the first time in years, he found himself growing content to be in the presence of another.

* * *

The hallway's stone walls were only mildly lit by the surrounding wall sconces. Each flickered threateningly. Very much alive, as drafts broke through the cracks in the old worn stone. The faint chill that she remembered to have washed over her skin, merely ghosted through their spectral forms. Unfettered by any known law of nature.

Innately, he could feel malevolent magic twisting through the air. A turbulence of some sort; causing his tastebuds to sizzle to life on his tongue. And as intimate as he was with the Dark Arts, he could be certain there were Dark forces at work this night. Faint traces lingered on the breeze. It hung in the air tenaciously, like a thick fog in the heart of the mountains.

He felt puzzled. _Why had no other teacher felt the disturbance? Perhaps,_ he thought, _only the most perceptive of magic users could detect such a thing._ For he could no more turn a cheek to such a call, than a wolf could quell the thrill of the hunt.

Turning his nose to the wind, he could distinctly smell a foul stench in the air. His augmented senses worked needlessly to uncover its source. He could practically taste the deceit in the hall; slithering through his nose and into his lungs. His heightened olfactory senses were but one of the many side effects to this horcrux's construct. He could even detect the sweet tang of spilt blood on the air; tantalizing and beckoning him forward.

But above all else, he was hypnotized by another fragrance entirely. Hiding just beneath those bitter notes, stood a very desirable aroma. Her fear caused his predatory senses to run wild. He flicked his tongue out along his teeth, fully aware how desperate his body was to taste her sweet porcelain skin. Another reminder that while the face he now bore alluded to but one of the physical transformations he'd underwent, he could admit; he did not feel entirely human anymore.

Accompanying this new facade, he'd found himself experiencing the most profound responses to stimuli. He'd quickly realized his instincts had become quite predatory in nature. Something which continued to amuse him because, of course, he had always been a predator. Never allowing himself to be the prey. Therefore, placing himself firmly at the top of the food chain. His quarry, unlimited.

Those around him had always been expendable; so easily manipulated for his purposes. Making for perfect pawns in his grand schemes. Everyone was fair game, but now it had changed. Now manipulating his prey didn't just bring him amusement, and an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. It was something he enjoyed on a primal level. He didn't want to just catch his prey, he wanted to devour it. Just as the world had tried to devour him.

In his eyes, his self-imposed mutilations were but a small price to pay for such sustained longevity.

* * *

Before his control could slip through his grasp, he was forced to tunnel his sights toward his surroundings instead of her. Adamantly peering at the stonework, he found himself quite familiar with the building's architectural design.

The familiarity he felt toward the place could not be denied. _Hogwarts_ , he thought without a second's hesitance. The first place where he'd truly cultivated his knowledge of the Magical World. A place where he had finally been hoisted up, granted some type of equal footing in the world. He was no longer just the orphan boy that no one spared a second glance at. Hogwarts granted him the chance to be more. It would forever be the first place he called 'home'.

Only now, instead of feeling the safety of his ancestor's magic, the air felt rank with magical unrest. They began to make their way down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly off the high arched ceilings above. He felt the pull of her memories, summoning him toward their true destination. A place, he found himself eager to reach for no explainable reason.

Memories of his once home twisted, until he barely recognized this sacred place that became his sanctuary. Where he had first discovered his true heritage. For though he stood in the castle that would forever be Salazar Slytherin's most notorious legacy, he was the farthest from at ease.

His childhood home felt defiled by the darkness. The one place he would be hesitant to see darkness fall.

He knew not what to think of this distorted perversion of his own memories. Voldemort had always trusted himself; the only being in the world who would never betray or disappoint him. Now though, his own memories were proving to be questionable.

As responsive as Voldemort had always thought himself to be of the Dark Arts, he should have been able to feel this from the dungeons. The fact he'd remained in the dark, unsettled him. The Dark Lord wondered what else he could've overlooked in his adolescent age, young and arrogant in his power. Feeling more vulnerable than he'd been in years, he swallowed thickly at the implications behind such deceit.

There were few things he would stand for less than being played a fool. He was not only ' _a_ ' Dark Lord. He was ' _the_ ' Dark Lord. Omniscient. Never to be tricked or used. It was Voldemort who controlled those around him; disposing of those who served no purpose or displeased him. In the end, they were no more than pawns to be sacrificed at his will.

Nevertheless at this exact moment in time, he felt more amiss than ever before. His senses spoke of sinister workings afoot. The game had already begun and instinctively, he knew he was not the only king on the board. His enemies were planning a coup. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon. This sickening feeling he had felt only once before, as he apparated into Godric's Hollow all those years ago. His senses had never failed him. Deep down, he had always been able to detect disaster on the horizon.

He gazed over at her form, striding through the halls as though she were naught but a ghost. Distanced from her surroundings. She stared deep into the void, as though she had seen death and feared his great return. This witch, of whom he had no recollection, was quite an unusual creature. And while he could not fully grasp her motivations, he could truly feel a familiarity between their magics. He found himself wanting to taste her skin, to feel her heart flutter beneath his touch. Quick and panicked, but not from fear.

A feeling which lead him to feel quite opposed to casting her account aside, quite yet. For as awry as his mind had begun to feel, he could not deny the peace his soul felt at her mere presence. It was this familiarity that quelled his murderous impulses. He did not feel the need to raise his wand and watch her squirm beneath him, as he did others. No impulse to watch her beg and cry at his feet.

He had a strange inkling it would bring him no pleasure. Which in itself was strange, because seeing vulnerability in others had always brought a certain amount of joviality to his imposing demeanor. It had always reminded him that all those who suffered, could be controlled. For, anyone weak enough to possess such sentimentalities, opened themselves up to being exploited in such a manner.

It told him that he would need to remain vigilant, lest he find himself surrounded at all sides by this nameless enemy. It told him that there was still time left to conquer these shadowed foes. That he was far from beaten. Far from hearing the word 'checkmate' spoken unto him by this invisible adversary.

This witch, she was different to him in some way. Perhaps not an enemy; but whether she'd prove to be an ally he could not say. He would obtain his answers though. Burning through her mind until it was an empty shell, if he must. It mattered not in the end.

All at once, right and wrong warred inside his body; battling fruitlessly against an unseen enemy. Unbeknownst to him, the curtain had already begun to lift from his mind. Soon, all would be as it should have been.

Darkness had once lurked inside the heart of Hogwarts. Moving about deep in the dead of night, unseen while the castle slept. This powerful Dark user had foolishly threaded their fingers into the sheer fabric of time. Failing to see the dangers that would await the one who had defied the laws of magic. The one who ravaged his mind; stealing precious thoughts which ought to have been left in peace. Unknowing that only devastation could follow such a deception.

For in the dark, he was far from blind.. and he would devour this enemy at any cost.

* * *

As they passed the torches lining the halls, he began to stare at the way the firelight danced in their torches, he began to notice oddities in the scene before him. When he focused closely on where the flames licked at the air, he could see ripples vibrate through the ether surrounding it.

In fact, as they travelled beyond her mindscape and into her memories, he was shocked at just how much she saw. Curiosity burned his insides, as he fought back the urge to question exactly how she manipulated her magic so. He could feel it pulsing off the objects around them. Reflecting in a way, to form a scene around them.

He had not the time yet to fully consider, the impact her blindness may have had on the scene before them. And though he assumed her other senses to be more acute, she seemed to 'see' a great deal.

She'd watched his expressions, waiting for the moment he'd uncover the visual discrepancies around them.

_"Trying to comprehend how it is that we can see anything at all here, in a blind woman's memories?"_ She chuckled sardonically.

_"Tsk. I remember my brother being far more perceptive of such things."_

At that, Voldemort whipped his glaring eyes over to her slight form. Sneering at her slight. She, who described a sibling which he had no memory of. If what she said was truth, if she was not a deceiving wench, that put him at quite the disadvantage. For that would mean she had knowledge, far more than he was currently in possession of.

Knowledge being a key factor that put you ahead of the game. There was also the possibility she might dare to feed him false information; skewing the past to benefit her vantage point. He was not unaware of the secrets one could hide inside such devices. Memories, while they could not be falsely induced, could be shaped to satisfy one's grand design.

He studied her every movement under a punishing eye. Listening to the pulse of her heart beat, steady in its veracious rhythm. Knowing that if he so much as tasted the fair hint of a lie on her sly tongue, he would be sure to cut from her mouth. In the meantime, he occupied himself by listening for the tell-tale flutter of her pulse. Knowing any forthright lie would reveal itself quite illustriously to his attuned ears.

She however, remained unmoved by his overzealous attentions. Walking over to face him, she raised her hand in front of his line of vision. He caught her wrist in his steely grip. Carefully observing her slight form and timid approach. Reading no ill intent in her body language, he allowed her to lay her palm gently over his eyes.

Her skin ghosting across his own for a brief moment in time. Its warmth heated his cool reptilian skin instantly. A feeling he found oddly pleasurable. She found herself intrigued by the smooth skin around his eyes. She had after all, seen this horcrux emerge from her visions within the past year; but 'seeing' him and feeling him beneath her fingertips were quite different.

Her magic felt the subtle differences in him. The horcruxes had always felt slightly different from his original form. Each reshaped his magical structure to such a degree, she could easily identify his every shattered piece.

She smiled softly, as if they were unintentionally repeating a rare moment from time.

_"If you look deeper, you'll see. Use your magic, not your eyes,"_ she whispered. Her voice took on a slightly dreamy quality, making her sound distracted and far away. Leaning in, she spoke once more.

_"Feel not with your body, but with your mind. Taste not with your tongue, but with your very soul."_

Neither realized she had placed her free hand over his heart, at the mere mention of his fragmented soul. So consumed they were by the feel of the other's touch.

It was no easy feat, she knew. But the layers were there just waiting to be peeled back, studied, and understood. A wizard of his standing should be able to close his eyes and just 'feel' with his seventh sense. But then, when had feeling come easy to either of them. Surely it was a struggle for her brother, a being who relied on information and hard facts, as well as in-discrepancies in the general principles of human reaction. He was determined though, she knew. If she told him he must do it, he would. He was not a figure to easily accept defeat.

He shut his eyes tightly; concentrating his brilliant mind only on the task at hand.

* * *

Not half a minute had passed before she heard it. That quiet hiss of breath into his lungs, alerted her as easily as if he'd spoken aloud. She may have been out of practice, but she was far from ignorant to his tells. His behavior, as well as all of the habits that he masqueraded behind. His every face had kept her sane inside that hell of a prison. He could not hope to hide from her, as he did others.

_He wears this expressionless mask with too little ease,_ she thought worriedly. She wondered if he even realized how lonely he really was. She could hear his soul crying out for her; like a newborn babe would, its mother. She couldn't silence its pleas as their skin made contact. Amplifying any residual bonds between them.

He was at first overcome by the way textures and color perception distorted the world around them. Every detail bathed him in a sensory overload, nearly drowning him from the overwhelming flow of power. Almost like his vision was warped by heat sensory, similar to that of a werewolf's.

While it had often amused him to watch his enemies through Greyback's eyes during the raids, this was something wholly anew. Where the senses of wolves were purely on a physical and animalistic level, this went beyond anything he could vocalize. Seeing one's visceral fear light up their body's image had always set his pulse racing in excitement. This set every nerve ending deep within his body and soul on fire.

This sight that she used so flippantly, magnified every detail physical and metaphysical combined. A sort of god-like ability he knew the Muggles would seek to stamp out, if given the opportunity. _Such sheer talent_ , he mused. Feeling a sense of greed enter his heart. He admired it. And anything he admired, he would have.

" _Who are you?"_ He queried, turning his new form of vision from his surroundings to rest his gaze down upon her. Where her usually pale orbs rested, now glowed two stars, forming their own constellation. Both shining brighter than any _Lumos_ he'd ever seen cast. He could see the very essence of the magical world shimmer off every curve and dip of her skin, as she stood before him like some goddess from tales  & myth.

Her abilities as a seer were illuminated at once. Never in his lifetime had he heard mention of such a rarity living amongst them. He gazed down at her in true splendor. The need to possess such a unique weapon was staggering. Indeed, he could see why someone wished to hide her from the world. Whether the same blood ran through her veins as his or not, she would be kept close at his side.

However, there was something delicious at the thought of her being his. He almost yearned for it; to be tied to something so completely. Voldemort would possess her in a way no one else ever could. Yet, as he thought this, something foreign grew from within his stomach.. forbidding him from seeing her as simply an object that he desperately wanted to acquire.

Voldemort didn't know what to make of such a feeling, yet he imagined it would be helpful all the same. After all, he liked the idea of her being around him because she wanted to. For that he would have to seduce her to the his side. In the end she would be much more cooperative. And with no living family left, no other could lay any claim upon her. She could be his forever.

" _I am Vera,"_ The woman introduced herself faintly, as if that told him all he needed to know.

_"..I am your sister."_ She finished with a hint of a smile apparent in her voice.

_Your other half. The calm to your storm._ Words that desperately wanted to roll off the tip of her tongue, yet Vera silenced them before they could. No need to overwhelm him with information. After all, if she had it her way he would know all there was. All in due time.

As the hand shielding his eyes fell away, they gradually opened to allow him to bear witness the facade that she wore with such modesty. Showcasing her pallor, her skin looked nearly translucent under the poor lighting. He wondered if he'd be able to see the blue of her veins running down the straights of her arms. Her delicate wrists had felt so breakable under his hold earlier. Doll-like in nature, and altogether too vulnerable to be related to him, by any means.

He noticed that she stood only a few inches shorter than him. A surprising attribute, as he towered above most. Her form fell in graceful curves; lithe in both movement and esthetics. Whether her long silvery mane fell around her face or swept back, he was sure she could make even a full-bred veela envious. He could not deny he held quite a covetous fascination toward her.

As he looked closely, he began to recognize the curve of her high cheekbones and the sly curve of her lips. Features he had once bore with such pride. She held the same aristocratic features he had once used to lure followers to his cause. Back before his magic had grown so menacing, that he'd discovered something infinitely more satisfying.

Their deference grew to be limitless when it did not hide behind lust. When only dread and respect were all that remained. His sway over them became godly, as their bodies quaked from fear at his every word. Their fear and idolatry fed him like the demons he remembered from his childhood. Lies fed to the children by the Muggle priests, eager to scare them into submission. Something he'd never been fully able to believe, for his curiosity led him to ask too many leery questions. He'd always been rather dubious to the nature of the 'proof,' that such deities existed.

Alas, the urge to touch her was strong. One that he barely contained the impulse to reach out and take hold of her. Possessive thoughts cluttered his mind, and though he would have loved to run his hands down her body. To let them graze her skin, and burn a trail that would be visible to all who dared to try to touch her. He forced his hands to remain down by his sides. Making conscious effort to not clench his hands, lest she discover his inner turmoil.

Was she who she claimed to be? Though he felt growing disbelief at her words, processing them as quickly as he was able to through the shock that flooded his system, he couldn't deny that it made sense. How he felt kindred to a woman that he didn't know. Her image continued to cause ripples through the back of his mind. His control perilously withering at his feet, as she closed their proximity evermore.

Voldemort swore that when he found out who dared to obliviate and tamper with his memories, they would pay for such actions with their life.

When he finally spoke, he spoke with a composure that divulged little of his true thoughts, of the wrath that was carefully hidden from view even as it pulsed through his veins with dangerous intent.

_"Show me the one who did this to you.. To us."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you again everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed any in the past few months. You are the reason I have been writing and rewriting this chapter(and story), trying to get it just right. Above all else, I have to also think two beautiful ladies that have, for all intents and purposes, beta'd/co-written the fuck out of this chapter. It's true perfection and you both deserve full credit. WarriorHime53 and Deanna.Price, you both have really made this chapter possible when I was really to end it all. They're two creative writers that just amaze me week after week. I love you both. WarriorHime53 is on both AO3 and FanFiction, and Deanna.Price you can find on FanFiction. Please take the time to check out both of these wonderful women's work. You will not be disappointed. Their Harry Potter stories are marvelous!
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying where I plan to take this story. As I've said previously, I'm in it for some serious twists and turns, so hold onto your hats everyone! As for the next chapter, I have it all written up now. And it is a gruesome beauty. *thumbs up* Just needs a little wax and shine, and it should be hitting your inboxes in the next week.
> 
> As always, you know there's nothing that gets the wheels turning like a little feedback. So please, don't be shy. We'd love to hear any thoughts or concerns you may have. I will get back to every single one that I'm able to. Thank you everyone, for your kind words! I look forward to hearing from each of you! Every review/comment really pushes me to write to my maximum potential. I sincerely hope you enjoy. The next part of the memory is continued on through chapter 4, and it's well on its way!
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Chapter Four- Vera

Iridescent

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, it will get dark.

[Previously on Chapter 4:

"Who are you?" He queried, turning his new form of vision from his surroundings. Resting his weighted gaze down upon her. But where her usually pale orbs rested, now glowed two stars, forming their own constellation. Shining brighter than any Lumos he'd ever seen cast. He could see the very essence of the magical world shimmer off every curve and dip of her skin, as she stood before him like some goddess from tales and myth.

Her abilities as a seer were illuminated at once. Never in his lifetime had he heard mention of such a rarity living amongst them. He gazed down at her in true splendor. The need to possess such a unique weapon was staggering. Indeed, he could see why someone wished to hide her from the world. Whether the same blood ran through her veins as his or not, she would be kept close at his side.

However, there was something delicious at the thought of her being his. He almost yearned for it; to be tied to something so completely. Voldemort would possess her in a way no one else ever could. Yet, as he thought this, something foreign grew from within his stomach.. forbidding him from seeing her as simply an object that he desperately wanted to acquire.

Voldemort didn't know what to make of such a feeling, yet he imagined it would be helpful all the same. After all, he liked the idea of her being around him because she wanted to. For that he would have to seduce her to the his side. In the end she would be much more cooperative. And with no living family left, no other could lay any claim upon her. She could be his forever.

"I am Vera," The woman introduced herself faintly, as if that told him all he needed to know.

"..I am your sister." She finished with a hint of a smile apparent in her voice.

Your other half. The calm to your storm. Words that desperately wanted to roll off the tip of her tongue, yet Vera silenced them before they could. No need to overwhelm him with information. After all, if she had it her way he would know all there was. All in due time.

As the hand shielding his eyes fell away, they gradually opened to allow him to bear witness the facade that she wore with such modesty. Showcasing her pallor, her skin looked nearly translucent under the poor lighting. He wondered if he'd be able to see the blue of her veins running down the straights of her arms. Her delicate wrists had felt so breakable under his hold earlier. Doll-like in nature, and altogether too vulnerable to be related to him, by any means.

He noticed that she stood only a few inches shorter than him. A surprising attribute, as he towered above most. Her form fell in graceful curves; lithe in both movement and esthetics. Whether her long silvery mane fell around her face or swept back, he was sure she could make even a full-bred veela envious. He could not deny he held quite a covetous fascination toward her.

As he looked closely, he began to recognize the curve of her high cheekbones and the sly curve of her lips. Features he had once bore with such pride. She held the same aristocratic features he had once used to lure followers to his cause. Back before his magic had grown so menacing, that he'd discovered something infinitely more satisfying.

Their deference grew to be limitless when it did not hide behind lust. When only dread and respect were all that remained. His sway over them became godly, as their bodies quaked from fear at his every word. Their fear and idolatry fed him like the demons he remembered from his childhood. Lies fed to the children by the Muggle priests, eager to scare them into submission. Something he'd never been fully able to believe, for his curiosity led him to ask too many leery questions. He'd always been rather dubious to the nature of the 'proof,' that such deities existed.

Alas, the urge to touch her was strong. One that he barely contained the impulse to reach out and take hold of her. Possessive thoughts cluttered his mind, and though he would have loved to run his hands down her body. To let them graze her skin, and burn a trail that would be visible to all who dared to try to touch her. He forced his hands to remain down by his sides. Making conscious effort to not clench his hands, lest she discover his inner turmoil.

Was she who she claimed to be? Though he felt growing disbelief at her words, processing them as quickly as he was able to through the shock that flooded his system, he couldn't deny that it made sense. How he felt kindred to a woman that he didn't know. Her image continued to cause ripples through the back of his mind. His control perilously withering at his feet, as she closed their proximity evermore.

Voldemort swore that when he found out who dared to obliviate and tamper with his memories, they would pay for such actions with their life.

When he finally spoke, he spoke with a composure that divulged little of his true thoughts, of the wrath that was carefully hidden from view even as it pulsed through his veins with dangerous intent.

"Show me the one who did this to you.. To us."]

Chapter Four: Vera

A beatific grin took hold of Vera's curling lips in response to his demand. The action magnifying the curvature of her features tenfold, as triumph illuminated her natural radiance. Deep within her opaline depths; she personified a sort of child-like innocence. Raising her hand, she indulged them both with yet another shared touch. Easily forgetting the decades that had past since her fingertips last grazed the curve of his strong jaw. Gently smoothing the pads of her nimble fingers across his skin, like a touch starved lover. One that spoke of deep fondness and intimate familiarity.

Unlike the time before, the Dark Lord didn't shy from her; but merely gazed at her questioningly. As though he didn't know what to make of such a gesture. She slowly grazed her fingertips affectionately down his cheek, leaving a fiery trail in her wake. Igniting his cool skin, as though she'd drawn an incendiary rune into his flesh with hers. The warmth caused his bones to nearly melt from within. The seemingly charred flesh surrounding his body, became ever more pliant under her caress.

Making it all the more deplorable when she suddenly, without rhyme nor reason, turned away abruptly. Veiling her troubled visage from his riveted stare. A stare that had sent many a weaker wizard into near cardiac arrest. But this time however, he did not feel the same predatory need to kill, as he had them. His senses detected no such stench emitting from her skin. In fact, if he were to put a name to her scent, he might go so far as to call it pleasant. Had he the time to pry apart each node in her web of pheromones, he might have been driven speechless from utter confoundment. But as it was, his mind revolved time and time again around one word in particular. Fascinating.

He had been dissecting her every move, long before she took those two steps away from him. He watched her as though she were the one not fully human. Her temples throbbed from her mounting anxiety. Memories of things that had long ago passed, echoed through her mind. Nearly splitting her skull in two from the violent intrusion. Feelings of things that she had long ago let die inside her, when she'd disappeared from the world. And as she ripped herself away from his immediate reach, they both heaved in a disorienting breath. Each left gasping at the sheer juxtaposition between their warring emotions.

The Dark Lord himself, suffered a devastating loss the moment she ceased to warm his skin with hers. The derelict feeling in the pit of his stomach cumulated into something unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He could but liken the sensation to his discovery of his diary's complete and utter destruction. Her abandoning touch nearly withdrew a reaction most undesirable from him.

Were it not for the reining Dark Lord's tightly gripped control, he'd have exposed his burgeoning desires of the flesh quite spectacularly. A weakness, he'd forbade himself from suffering. It was in this moment of clarity, that he cast his fascinated eyes from following the unyielding line of her spine down into more dangerous territory. His troubled eyes instead, falling to the space between their bodies; revealing his own body's treacherous response to her.

Leveled beneath his fearsome stare, he willed his half-erect cock into submission. Disgusted by the emergence of such a base animal mating instinct, infecting his tightly gripped control. He sought to deny any culpability, blaming it entirely on his form's unnatural mutations. It might have worked if not for the fact that he was much too analytical, to be completely lulled into believing his own paltry excuses.

His wand arm raised, fingers extending out in a ravenous need to return her skin to his. Fingers closing around air, as he clenched his fists in repugnance. He glared down at the betraying limb in disgust, lowering it back down to his side. Flashing his violent crimson orbs once more in her direction, as he suddenly wished he had not lowered his arm so thoughtlessly after all. But rather desiring to cradle his long deft fingers around the unyielding yew wand, Garrick Ollivander had handcrafted some years previous. Long before the wandmaker had any knowledge of the man whom Tom Riddle, would turn into.

Alas, as his orbs waned from their bone-chilling carmine hue, they settled back to their natural state. A blue so frigidly pale, that he'd often wondered how he had ever lured another to his side with false sincerity and warmth. Something he didn't think himself capable of, in the least. Though if he sought to achieve complete transparency, he'd long ago given up on truly understanding the human condition. Humans, they were as insignificant to him as the lowly ant underfoot. Running around aimlessly before they died, without a hope to grasp true genius with their simple minds.

Her actions though, perplexed him and he was not one to allow his attentions to deviate needlessly. She'd proven herself quite worthy of his study, just moments before. The sheer existence of a seer at his beck and call, would bolster his followers' fidelity exponentially. A thought which both pleased and confounded him immensely. For the idea that he might require such reinforcement, spoke of weakness in his ranks. It voiced an underlying impotence in his ability to lead his followers into a new era.

His conflicting emotions had at first, felt quite alien to him. Though he was discovering quickly that the longer their encounter lasted, the further his mind distorted. Yielding discord from within the depths of his mind, along with accompanying responses which he struggled to conceal.

Unused, as he was to suffering such conditions experienced by those of inferior intellectual pursuits, he felt infuriated by the woman that stood beside him. How dare she encumber his thoughts with unnecessary feelings, he seethed internally. The actions themselves seemed to be done offhand, but he remained ever vigilant, nonetheless.

The way that she was, dare he say, comfortable at his side, astounded him greatly. For while even though she shied away just moments before, he got the distinct feeling it was contradictory to her body's true desires. Her actions came off as if it were second nature to glide her skin along his flesh. Thoughtless of how dangerous he indeed was. Almost as though she was flippantly ignoring how easily he could brutally slaughter her. As if he hadn't done just that, to the hundreds or perhaps even thousands, before her. The very idea caused him to bristle, at the mockery. He would not be disrespected in such a manner!

What knowledge did this beautiful woman possess that made her act in such a foolish way? That gave her such security despite the comprehension of just who he was? He ached to obtain that kind of knowledge, the cognition that should have never been extracted from his mind in the first place. For even with but a portion of his soul, he felt whole; but take his mind, and he was but a sliver of the wizard he truly could be.

Since having begun his acute observations of the woman claiming to be his sister, he'd come to a very intriguing realization indeed. For as her slippery tongue alleged one thing, her actions spoke a truth far displaced from modern society's readily accepted ideals. Alluding to scandal, larger than anything his mind could have suspected. Something which if true, and he greatly suspected it was, would make this next conversation infinitely more interesting.

"Tell me sweet Vera," He slowly began, savoring the dulcet tones her name brought to his sibilant speech patterns.

"You have laid claim to have been my sister of long-lost. Flesh of my flesh. That we share the same blood that ran through my greatest of Slytherin ancestors. Yet," he paused for dramatic effect.

"You do not touch me like I am your brother." He affirmed to her boldly, his voice growing soft the more he spoke but it seemed he couldn't stop himself from consciously eyeing her form with narrowed crimson orbs; a visible attempt to unveil her secrets.

"Nor do you look at me like we are family." Stepping just a hairsbreadth from her back, he allowed his thumb and forefinger to stroke a line down her jaw. Firmly delving into his newfound ability, to 'see' as she saw. Magic crackled in the air around them, as his skin found purchase upon hers. Turning her chin to face him, he stared into her radiant orbs like she was his equal. For as he had previously discovered, her 'sight' offered her something far greater than any normal pair of eyes could. For not simply anyone could connect with one's magical core on such a raw and instinctual level. And look she did, for he could feel her magic calling his to every available surface on his body. Just as his did hers. Like two contrasting magnets desperately seeking out the other's touch.

"Why?" He hissed; eager to pry the tabooed admission from her, before she could secret away the true nature of their connection. If she truly had some rancorous knowledge of a sordid incestual affair, he would hear of it now; before truth reached him by other means. For while his mind abhorred the idea of her truly being his kin, he was completely at a loss for any other plausible explanation. It would certainly explain the pull he felt toward her. As he didn't easily befall attraction of the bodily sort. Nor magical.

After all, he had met women before who molded others around them; twisting them into little more than mindless pawns. With nary a whisper of resistance on their victim's lips, they'd find themselves strung up as fools. Dancing to the every whim of the seductress, who could no more counter a curse than a Squib. A foul waste of air in his opinion, for he despised those without any real magical talent. But he didn't feel bewitched or possessed, as those wizards had so blindly felt.

Contempt and some other emotion he had yet to put a name to, licked up the back of his throat, like a thirst he needed to quench. From the depths of his body, he felt the predatory call of his ophidian senses, seeking to quell his enmity with blood. Her blood. But he stayed his hand, until he had proof of such deceptions.

The wizened Dark Lord would not be left at some simpering witch's mercy. For while she was as talented with her touch as she was her tongue, he was no thoughtless simpleton. And if she dared gift him with a lie, she would be delivered a most painful death.

He was Lord Voldemort after all. A connoisseur of the Dark Arts. A devious manipulator and known sociopath. A mass murderer. He craved nothing more than dominating others; exhibiting absolute control. The thrill he got from holding a life in the palm of his hand, could not be matched. He was a wizard who could suss out the most deceiving of lies, which was why she caused him such internal duress. She shook his constraints as though he were naught but an inexperienced novice. Something he hadn't felt since he failed to deceive Albus Dumbledore, all those years previous.

The intricacies of the human mind, were something he didn't quite understand, so much as instinctively know. He had no real grasp on the emotional workings behind love or true despair. He was bereft of such a capacity. Such had always been the case for him; even as a child he could read the wants and motivations behind others' actions. Long before he had developed his magical gifts into something wholly extraordinary, he'd discovered something equally as remarkable. A natural talent for stratagem, buried deep in his subconscious. A supremacy that had once more hammered into him, the notion that he was more than those simpering rats living in the orphanage's walls.

He'd taken to carefully cultivating his machinations over his years. His need for complete control was unexplainable. Born to him out of hate and envy of others. But more so, of his own greed. It enabled him to compartmentalize. While others his age barely grasped the concept of letters, he'd already begun to realize the power which language held. Authors carved their thoughts into the minds of the masses. Defying death through their literary talents. Their name, alive on the lips of the people, centuries after their bodies perished; subordinate to no force or governing body. They were immortal.

Though the art of manipulation was more than just speech and perception, it drove the mind to identify certain markers with offense. For the young Slytherin heir, such a knowledge was tantamount to success. One could be whatever they wished to be under the proper guidance. Under the right rules. For years, the future Dark Lord studied people and their reactions to positive and negative stimulus. He learned how far children could be pushed before madness broke. Before tears wet their little cherubic cheeks, when they finally realized they'd been deceived; a delicacy he could savor like the finest of wine. The power he held was seductive; the more he used it, the more he yearned to use again.

Although it was within facial features that told a story all their own; a hidden truth that bled to the surface. Unlimited to such seclusive constrictions, so unlike vocalization required. It was a fascinating study and happened to be one in which he'd used throughout his life, as his most effortless way of reading someone. The older purebred lines made note to teach their young the art of neutral deceptions early on. Such was how they thrived in the political world.

Mannerisms were a thing to be dissected and studied, as well. Fleeting in their ephemeral existence. Here one moment, gone the next. They were weapons, waiting to be harnessed. They provided transparency. Broadcasting the truth, when all else was lies. And in that moment, he saw many a veracious piece of the puzzle that was her.

Interrupted by an almost bell-like laughter, his thrashing thoughts stilled.

"I suppose your query is meant to send me off-balance. Make me loose lipped and frightened of what secrets I could be hiding," Vera began to speak in a softened voice that echoed around her and conflicting with her body language as she swiveled around to meet him head-on, glaring magnificently at his snake-like visage without fear.

"Perhaps I'll lie to you and tell you I'm Dumbledore's lackey, since you're so obviously trying to bait me into revealing some form of trickery," she continued daringly, fueled by the outward suspicion dripping from his lips. It caused her anguish to watch him regard her with such provocation, looking through her eyes but not acknowledging just who she was to him..

"As if I would lower myself to accept anything beneath what is rightfully mine," she sneered, contemptuous of the battle that she knew would come to pass before he discovered she was exactly who she was. So distrustful, as always brother of mine. Some things never change no matter our time apart... Vera just never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

"But that would also imply that you're too short-sighted to listen to your instincts, when they so clearly just told you that there was indeed a Dark user in the school." She stabbed her finger in his direction. "You felt it." She said confidently. "I know you did."

His top lip curled back at her assumption; at her daringly behavior that went farther than any other before her in all his recollection on this earth. How resilient and durable she was with her strength. It was something to be respected as much as it irked him at this very second. It was the assumption that she knew him better than he himself did, how she picked up on his near undetectable habits.

"Did I, witch? You seem to know quite a significant deal of things you shouldn't. Things you couldn't know."

The subtle tilting of her head paired with the minor shift in her brows, left her looking somewhat cocky, no - expectant, he supplied. It nearly pained him to ignore the distractingly refined arch of her neck. It was almost as if she was indulging him in continuing the charade. He supposed, if she could indeed see future events, this conversation may seem quite rehearsed. Though it was the first time he could ever recollect speaking to the girl, not quite woman. Even the elegant clasp of her hands at her back, gave him the impression that his questions had, as planned, provided just the prompt she had been waiting for.

"Perhaps, I am not lying at all my Serpent King. Have you stopped to consider your enemies may not be who you think?" Her sibilant tones giving her voice a far more desirable quality. Even as she spoke in riddles, his eyes were drawn to her lips. Which had once more appeared their natural sanguine hue, as he struggled to keep up his enhanced vision.

Her matter-of-fact smile turned rather shadowed, as she continued sadly. "It's quite the tragedy really, our story. I'm the only woman you have ever found worthy of your touch, and you can't even remember it." Looking down, she disappeared deep into her mind for a moment, causing his brow to furrow from his absolute emotional ineptitude.

Her somber pout curled up in the corners, until she tried to grin playfully back at him. "Alas, I guess I'll just have to settle for being the only one alive to know just how to make a Dark Lord beg." She finished with a teasing smile that made his blood burn hot with indignation, at her playful quips. She, who seemed to know such intimate details that he, himself was unawares.

Her pulse held steady, as she remained surprisingly at ease in his presence. Voldemort tightened his jaw instinctually at her almost arrogant manner of speaking. For while the Dark Lord could grasp nearly every known subject of magical theorem, joviality seemed beyond his comprehension. Something he'd neither understood nor ever found wish to. Completely impeding his senses to be able to detect the underlying fondness, of which she had spoken to him. He felt his temper rising, as he sought to lash out at her for her disrespectful words. Punish her.

"You seem to have neglected to remember, the near fifty years I have spent out of your reach while you remained locked in your little cage. What would you know of a Dark Lord's desires? A boy's perhaps, but certainly not a wizard of my caliber." They were face to face by this point. It was while observing her minute facial movements, that he delivered his final blow to her heart; like a dagger of ice penetrating her soul.

"Surely, you don't think I remember the sweet sounds you might have made under my hands, for I certainly do not." He finished with a grin; enjoying the way she hissed in a slow intake of breath, in retaliation. He took great pleasure in burning her, as she had him.

It was with an unnatural quickness that she latched her wrist around his throat, throwing him up against the wall at his back with an unyielding strength. Immobilizing him initially from shock, before he realized she had disallowed him any movement in this memory world, which she had absolute control over. Paralysis held him utterly at her abhorrent mercy. Her jaws snapped menacingly, in his direction like an animal. While he found himself reminded of Bella in that moment, for some inexplicable reason. Their prideful natures forced a sort of primitive violence to the surface.

"If you think I won't rip you from throat to balls, if you make one more demeaning comment, you are far more stupid than I previously thought. You are already on thin ice over that Potter nonsense you allowed to happen. Tsk, tsk, brother mine."

He was half encouraged to laugh at her threat, but that Potter business was in bad taste. His magic flared out at that last comment, but hers overwhelmed his. In her company, he found himself flailing in his attempts to reinforce his mental barriers. Tremors wracked the walls which encapsulated his vicious magical core. Her foreign presence contaminated his mind's impregnable defenses with unknown desires. The likes of which he had no interest in entertaining. But he was vexed tenfold at the way she tried to cage him in. No one laid their hands on him.

He could feel his magic pulsing haphazardly from within the depths of his body, lashing out in vociferous wrath. Enraptured as he was by the mere taste of her body's pheromones in the air between them, he was overcome by a tantalizing hunger, burning through his sternum. It was as if she called to every base instinct he'd buried long before. He felt altogether possessed by the woman, like a moth to flame. Enthralled by her ghoulish beauty. Her ferocity. Like a lioness ready to land her final blow. Such magnificent violence.

The sinfully addictive magic that mirrored his own in both control and capacity, wrapped around her like a cocoon. This woman who claimed to be of the prestigious Slytherin bloodline, matched him in ways that no other individual had succeeded before. He felt his eyes growing hot, as if his fragmented soul had risen to the surface to watch this beautiful creature. For indeed, he would not discount her beauty, her power as anything less. With his eyes flaring a blood-red hue, he looked demon possessed.

She saw his feral desires, crashing upon her own with reckless abandon. Instead of quivering in fear, her body shivered in anticipation. Almost like she planned to devour him whole.

Slyly, she ran her nose up along his neck, viciously sinking her teeth into his flesh. Punishing him for his waspish words, before soothing his flesh with her tongue. Physically claiming him as hers. Causing him to let loose a strain of Parseltongue, before she devoured the words right out of his mouth. Sucking, coaxing, and biting his tongue in some battle to claim his mouth as her own, as well. He tasted both her and her blood, and he couldn't tell which ensnared him more. But he suddenly felt ravenous for more.

She even seemed to understood his monster's base need to dominate, to conquer. Wordlessly allowing him to reach out and wrap his arms possessively around her lithe frame. His demanding hands laid claim to her long pale locks, twisting and pulling with a mind all their own. Descending all the way down her spine to the full curve of her hips, which would never feel the weight of child-bearing. Her lush curves laid untouched by time and malnourishment, even after the withering years locked inside the cavernous walls of Azkaban. He claimed her in that moment with just as demanding a touch as she'd felt, binding him against the wall.

Whatever the Dark magic she was using to whittle his defenses into dust, he felt like he had already gained something infinitely more substantial than a wounded pride. He'd gained her. Something that, if the current placement of his hands had any meaning whatsoever, he would not be releasing anytime in the near future. She was his, and he would make sure she never strayed from his side again. For once he discovered the source of his mental afflictions, he would force upon them immeasurable pain unlike any he'd ever delivered before. His vengeance would be absolute and there would be no mercy for the filth who dared lay a hand on what was his.

After that, he would drown in her. Her blood, her body, and her secrets. Just to see which tasted the sweetest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all just a little bit more piqued after this little snippet of what's to come. I've been sitting on this chapter for a couple weeks now, like a bird waiting for a egg to hatch. But after thinking it over tonight, I just decided to go ahead & split it into two pieces. I want to keep the updates coming, & I cannot state enough how motivating your reviews have been. Every one counts! If there's anything spelling-wise that I could change or if you have any questions concerning plot/character development, I AM ALL EARS. I take everyone's concerns into consideration, & while I understand the content might not be everyone's cup of tea, I really do appreciate constructive criticism. Let me know how this one turned out!


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